


Anytime

by falconeggs



Series: I wish I was a Gallagher [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falconeggs/pseuds/falconeggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After ten years of being away from Chicago, Mickey and Ian find themselves back home to attend Frank Gallagher’s funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anytime

”Hey, Mick?” the kid, Casey, piped up, getting his attention. Casey’d been part of the construction company that Mickey worked at for a few months now. He wasn’t older than seventeen, and he had taken a liking to Mickey, for some fuckin’ reason, but Mickey didn’t mind too much. Sure, the kid was mouthy and found some sort of false heroism in the ex-delinquent, but Mickey sort of found it endearing. 

Mickey looked up at Casey with an expectant eyebrow. They’d just been let off the clock, and Mickey was glad that he could finally go home. “What’s up, kid?” He asked, trying his hardest to keep the annoyance out of his voice.

“How’d you come out to your parents?”

Mickey let out an almost hysterical laugh at that and shook his head. “If you’re askin’ for fuckin’ advice on how to come out, you’re askin’ the wrong fuckin’ guy,” he said, simply, looking away from Casey. “Ask Ian. He’ll give you some bullshit you want to hear.”

Casey paused for a second, but continued. “What happened?” He asked.

Mickey sighed a little and shook his head. He didn’t like talking about the situation. It’d flipped both his and Ian’s worlds upside down, and that wasn’t particularly a good thing. Then again, Mickey’s soft spot for the kid was disgustingly overpowering.

“You know how Ian talks about how he used to want to go join the Army?” He referenced. Casey nodded. “That went to shit when he got his kneecaps busted by some assholes who were afraid they were going to catch Fag. It ruined his chances. He still can’t fuckin’ walk right.”

There was a slight pause, as Mickey tried to collect his thoughts. Casey just kept his mouth shut and waited.

“So, I did what I do,” he said, with a shrug. And Casey knew Mickey well enough to know that you don’t fuck with what’s Mickey’s. “Busted their fuckin’ kneecaps. One of those fuckin’ dildos won’t ever walk again.” Mickey smirked a little in satisfaction.

“What’s that got to do with you coming out?” Casey asked, softly.

“My old man heard why I went after them,” he said. He clenched his jaw. “No fuckin’ Milkovich is gonna be a fuckin’ queer. No fuckin’ fags in his house.”

Casey looked down, understanding pretty clear what that meant.

“He told me that he’d give me a chance, since I was his son,” he said. “I think it’s ‘cause Mandy told him she’d rip his cock off if he killed me.” He sighed softly. “I packed my shit up and came here, to the Big Fuckin’ Apple. Ian came with me. We haven’t been back to Chicago since.”

There was a long pause. Mickey didn’t like talking about it. It made him angry. Not because his dad was unforgiving and closed-minded, but because Ian hadn’t seen his family in a long time. Sure, Fiona and the kids, and sometimes even Frank, visited whenever they could, but it was hard.

Ian was too fucking stubborn to go back. Or maybe he was too afraid. Mickey would never admit that he was afraid of going back.

“Do you miss home?” Casey asked. His voice was small, almost timid.

Mickey huffed out a laugh and shook his head, “Nah,” he said, running his thumb over his lip. “This is my home.”

He’d never say it out loud, but he was at home wherever Ian was.

\- -

Mickey locked the door to the shitty apartment he lived in with Ian behind him when he came home. He hung up his dirty, dusty jacket by the door and toed off his boots.

After taking a few steps in, he spotted Ian hanging up his phone and putting it down on the small excuse for a coffee table before him. Even to Mickey, his expression was unreadable. It was a strange mix of emotions that didn’t seem to fit right together. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Mickey asked, sitting down beside Ian.

Ian stared at his phone for a moment before answering. “Frank’s dead,” he said, softly.

Those were words that Mickey never expected to hear. He figured that Frank Gallagher would outlive everyone. He’d lived through this much. Then again, in his life, Frank had made a lot of enemies. 

“What happened?” Mickey asked tentatively, not wanting to push Ian too far. Mickey was assuming a lot of things. There were a lot of answers running through his mind. Frank had been shot. Stabbed. Poisoned. Strangled. Suffered from alcohol poisoning. Overdosed. About a hundred things ran through his mind.

“He had a heart attack,” Ian said. “In his sleep.” Mickey raised his eyebrows at that one. He hadn’t expected heart attack. 

There was a brief pause in the air before Ian looked at Mickey. “The funeral’s in a week,” he said. Ian bit his lip a little before looking down at their worn carpet.

Mickey nodded slightly and slowly. He knew what this was. This was Ian wanting to go back to pay respects to his shitty excuse for a father. It’d be hard for Ian. Frank was a drunk asshole, but he was a better father to Ian than most of the fathers in the Southside. Mickey knew Ian well enough to know that Ian would want him to come with him. For ten years, through thick and thin, Ian had been there for Mickey. Now it was Mickey’s turn to return the favor.

Mickey wrapped his arm around Ian’s middle and dropped a small kiss to his shoulder. “I’ll get some train tickets or somethin’,” he said, softly. “‘Cause we both know we ain’t catchin’ me on some fuckin’ airborne death machine.”

Ian smiled softly at Mickey and leaned into his embrace. “Thanks,” he said, turning his head to kiss Mickey’s head.

“Anytime, firecrotch,” Mickey said, his voice soft and affectionate.

\- -

The two of them showed up at the Gallagher house the day before the funeral. The place was insane, to be perfectly honest. Everyone was there, because no one wanted to be alone. They needed each other. It was like a Gallagher instinct to cling to each other when things got hard.

Ian missed this house. Mickey could see it as he looked around it affectionately. In ten years, it had changed, but stayed the same. It was down to Jimmy, Fiona and Liam in the house now. Lip was married to a nice girl he’d met when he finally went to college, but lived in town with her and their kids. Debs had just gotten her degree and was a Junior Executive at a company; she gave a lot of her income to Fiona. Carl had managed to not go to prison yet, which Mickey thought was some sort of fuckin’ act of God. And Liam was just getting to the start of puberty.

It was weird to Mickey, seeing the Gallaghers all grown up. Then again, it was probably pretty fuckin’ weird to see him all grown up, too. 

Things were going pretty smoothly. It was easy between everyone. They were glad to have everyone back home for the time being. It was like old times. They all told stories about work and home and kids and Mickey really felt like he belonged with them.

He knew Fiona didn’t like Mickey being with Ian at first. She thought he was crass and rude, and that Ian could have done so much better (Mickey agreed). But ten years seemed to have worn her down a little. She actually smiled at him more than once during the trip. Mickey had done his best to return it, but he wasn’t much of a smiler. All the same, she understood the sentiment.

It was great. That was, until, the day of the funeral. 

\- -

Frank was cremated at the hospital, so the family just had a memorial at the house. It wasn’t anything special. It was just enough for people to come by and pay their respects to Frank.

Everyone in the Southside came to see if Frank was really dead. That was debts that would never be settled, tabs never paid, and stupid conversations never finished. Everyone knew Frank Gallagher. 

Including Terry Milkovich.

Micky had a feeling that the only reason his dad showed up was to see if Mickey would be there. Terry had made it very clear that if he ever saw Mickey’s face again, he wouldn’t hesitate to smash it in. Mickey knew that, even in his old age, Terry would do it himself.

But Mickey wasn’t afraid. He was there for Ian and the rest of his family. Not to settle some score with his dad. Not to prove to Terry that he was good enough. Quite frankly, Mickey didn’t give a shit what Terry thought anymore.

Terry took one look at Mickey and was at his side in a second. He pulled Mickey out front of the house by his shirt and tossed him into the front yard. The Gallaghers and the people who were there quickly followed out, watching intently. Ian was ready to jump in if it was needed, and he knew Lip and Carl would, too.

Micky stumbled up and looked at Terry. He held his arms out. “You wanna hit me?” he asked. “Go ahead. Fuckin’ hit me, Dad.”

Terry’s fist collided with Mickey’s jaw and it almost sent him to the ground. The Milkovichs hit hard; it was a rule of thumb for them. Mickey wiped at his mouth and locked eyes with Ian, who was tensed up and ready to go at Terry. He looked back to his father and didn’t prepare to fight him.

“I told you if I ever saw you again, I’d fuckin’ kill you,” Terry said. “I’d leave the Faggot Gallagher out of this, because he has a goddamn excuse to be here.”

“Yeah?” Mickey said. “You should know by now that where Ian goes, the Faggot Milkovich goes.” He almost sneered at Terry as he taunted him.

Terry lunged at Mickey and knocked him to the ground. “You ain’t a Milkovich,” Terry fumed, pushing himself away from Mickey and standing back up.

Micky just let out a laugh. “You saw the fuckin’ paternity test, Dad,” he stated, simply, slowly pulling himself up from the ground. “I’m a fuckin’ Milkovich. Your kid, just as much as Iggy or Mandy or any of the others.”

He caught another glimpse of Ian, who was being held back by Lip and Jimmy. He swallowed and looked back to his aggressor. 

“Get the fuck outa here, Terry,” he said, shaking his head. “This is Frank’s fuckin’ funeral and you’re gonna pick a fuckin’ fight with me?”

Terry let out a gruff laugh at that. “What do you care if it’s Frank’s funeral?” he asked. He turned away from Mickey, not even wanting to look at him.

“You must be fuckin’ stupid,” Mickey said, shaking his head and kicking the dirt a little at his foot. “Frank Fuckin’ Gallagher, the drunk bastard who owed everyone in the Southside at least a hundred bucks, was a better father to me than you ever were.”

That made Terry freeze. He’d been called a lot of things before, but never had he been considered less than Frank Gallagher. 

Mickey noticed Terry freezing and smirked a little, knowing he’d gotten a low blow. Not even Frank’s own kids liked him. Everyone knew that. Frank was a shitty father. He was drunk and unstable and never really there for his kids. But Frank came to visit Mickey and Ian in New York, and not even to ask for money.

“What fuckin’ flipped in me that changed me when you found out I’m a faggot, huh?” He asked. “Nothin’. I’m the same person. You’re the one that fuckin’ changed.” Terry clenched his jaw at that and glared at the spot on the fence that he was looking at. “Nothin’ changed with Frank, though. He was the same old Frank when me and Ian left. You coulda fuckin’ learned a thing or two from him.”

There was a long pause. No one moved. Everyone wanted to see what Terry would do, now that he’d been called out by his own son. Even Mickey wanted to know what his father would do.

In an instant, though, Terry’s fist collided with Mickey’s nose. Mickey could hear his break, and all he could think was, The old man can still move. The force of the punch knocked Mickey over, and Terry took the opportunity to beat on Mickey for as long as he could. Mickey knew that the Gallaghers were waiting for him to gesture that he needed help.

After what felt like forever, Terry stopped. He grabbed Mickey’s shirt and pulled him up by it, forcing him to sit up. “I don’t want to see your fuckin’ faggot face again, you hear me?” Terry hissed at him.

Mickey reached up and wiped at his nose. He looked at his bloody hand, then back up at Terry. “Then stay the fuck away from my family,” he said. His voice was totally calm. For a second, Mickey was sure he saw a flash of fear in Terry’s eyes.

Lip, Carl and Liam were pushing Terry out of the yard and onto the street, and making threats to call the police if he came back. Ian and Fiona helped Micky hobble into the house while Debbie went to grab a wash cloth. Jimmy thanked everyone who was leaving for coming, trying to still be hospitable while everyone left to tell everyone else about what had happened.

\- -

Everything got cleaned up. The house was full of food that people brought for them, and flowers for Frank’s memory. Lip and his family had to go, because his daughter’s allergies were acting up because of the flowers. Debbie and Carl went back to their respective houses, too. Ian and Mickey were staying in the spare room (which is a room that Ian never expected that the once-full house would have ever had). 

It was silent in the house. Liam was out with friends. Fiona and Jimmy were out on a date. It left Mickey and Ian alone. They sat on the couch, watching some shitty movie on television, eating some random casserole and passed a joint between them. They’d missed Chicago. No matter how much they both loved New York, Chicago was their childhood.

During a slow part of the movie, Ian looked over to Mickey and smiled a little at him. “Thank you,” he said, softly.

Mickey looked back to Ian. “For what?” he asked. He was bruised under his eyes. One of them was black. His lip was busted. His entire head ached. But he couldn’t even bother to complain about it. 

Ian smiled a little wider at Mickey. “Everything,” he said with a shrug. “For coming with me. For defending Frank. You didn’t have to.”

Mickey just shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “I did have to. Frank’s your dad.”

“You could have just stayed home,” Ian reasoned. “Terry wouldn’t have touched me, and we both know it.” 

Mickey just snorted (and regretted it an instant later). “And leave you to deal with your fuckin’ freak show of a family alone?” He asked, a slight smile on his face. “No fuckin’ way.”

Ian smiled at Mickey, leaning in to kiss him softly as he wrapped his arms around Mickey’s middle. Micky returned the hug, tightly, smiling to himself. 

The thing was, Mickey only ever did things for himself. Everything he’d ever done was for his own benefit. Every choice he made, was for himself. And Ian was part of who he was; maybe even the best part of him. So, by extension, everything he did was for Ian. And that sounded a lot better in Mickey’s head than saying that he was totally whipped.

Whipped or not, Mickey liked making Ian happy. If being home to see his family made Ian happy, Mickey would take the beating from Terry a hundred times over.

“Thank you,” Ian said, again. His voice was softer. No one was around, but it didn’t matter. It was just for Mickey’s ears.

“Anytime.”


End file.
